SARAH put down the Anne Rice novel she was reading and looked out the plane’s window.

The white, shifting clouds were not much of a view and leaning back in her seat, with a little sigh, she closed her eyes. In her mind, like a restless sea, anxiety rose and fell, for she was journeying to a place unknown, a place she had no memories of but a place her mother said had been home. An Asian ancestral home nestled in the South American continent, where age-old tradition and culture, like a fortress, history unmoved awaited the new generation.

Sarah toyed with the locket that hung around her neck, a locket that was a family heirloom her mother had presented to her on her 16th birthday. The locket came down from generations, across the seas from Mother India, to be worn by the first-born daughter of the family. It was an honour she had to uphold from birth to death, for she is the light and the blessing. A legacy that was never meant to be broken, but it broke and shattered a family when Sarah’s grandmother left the traditional home and went away with a missionary’s son. Her betrayal left darkness and pain that, over the decades, stayed unchanged, for only a daughter had to return home to relight the flame and resurrect the legacy. Sarah’s mother had not the desire to do so, for she found no interest in her ancestral family’s culture and the chain remained broken until Sarah came of age.

The intricacy and complexity of a culture she did not grow up in, left Sarah lost, but from the moment the locket was passed onto her, she felt intrigued by its history. Inset was the picture of a Maharani, a woman of class and character whose life defined the true nature of Indian womanhood. In the depths of her hazel eyes Sarah saw the life and drama of a rich culture from the beginning.

The locket brought a change in her life that opened her eyes to a new world and as the years went by, she felt a magnetic pull that drew her closer and closer to recognising her true identity. The dreams of a mansion and the estate grounds, portraits of an old family, beautiful ceremonies, mesmerizing dances and six numbers written in the Hindi language in a small room were like scripts of a new life.
The maharani was calling her home, a daughter had to return.

The air hostess’ voice over the intercom jolted her out of her deep thoughts as the plane started its descent to land.

She was home!
The turbulent waves of anxiety that had been crashing all over her mind became calm as she stepped out into the warm sunshine and her feet touched the land. A sensation like a blooming flower, its blossoms, its petals, filled her mind and tears, the jewel of emotions, wet her cheeks. The long drive to the country estate was a journey, in her mind’s eye to cherish forever, a beautiful and green land. The fresh air, the fresh fruits by the roadside and smiling brown-skinned people, like butterflies in paradise, made her wonder if it was one of those dreams that took her back in time, but when the car swung into a gravel roadway, bordered by thick, green vegetation and stopped by a huge wrought-iron gate, she knew it was real.

Sarah took a deep breath and stepped out before the car drove through the gates and stared at the mansion. It stood there, dark and lonely, in the quiet estate land, where shadows like unlit lanterns seemed to hang everywhere – a legacy unblood by betrayal, to bring to life again. The old gardener at the gate looked at her, surprised more than his age and in a low voice, broken by time, he said, “Missus?”

She smiled warmly and nodded her head, acknowledging his recognition and he clasped his hands and bowed his head.
“Is been ah long wait.” He said in creole, “Finally, ah daughta ‘as return.”

She walked along the pathway to the mansion in the footprints of those who had walked there throughout the decades, up the worn,winding stairway. A sense of belonging, deep as the seas, the dynasty of this family, flowed through her heart and so overwhelmed was she, the precious tears flowed. The teak door opened and the two servants were no less surprised than the gardener.

“Missus?”
She nodded and they broke into tears.
“Yuh look suh much like she.”
The portrait on the wall of her great-grandmother spoke more than words could, from the golden old to the modern, sacred family ties.
Sarah slept that night in her grandmother’s room, tired after her long journey, so she was unaware of the silent figures that stood at her bedside, looking at her beautiful sleeping face. Their young princess had come home. So long they had to wait now they could leave on the waiting chariot to God’s Kingdom.

The morning dawned, the miracle of a new day in the house and the grounds, where there were light and cheeriness. The cook was humming an old tune, the maid brought in fresh flowers from the garden, the dull antique furnishings were gleaming and even the portraits on the wall seemed to have a smile on their faces. Sarah stepped out on the balcony and raised her hand, as the gardener shouted a greeting. She breathed deeply, the fresh scented air of jasmine and magnolia as she looked across the sprawling lawns. The family cemetery lay in the shade of huge flambouyant trees, the dynasty from across the seas, her inheritance, her legacy. She stood at the vault where laid the Maharani, Queen of the family and she said, “It’s good to be home, I will continue our tradition, keeping the legacy alive, that was broken. You can now rest in peace.”

That night, she sat in the private sitting room reading one of the old texts when she saw scrawled over one of the pages the six-digit number she had been seeing in her dreams. She walked over to her great grandmother’s portrait and said, “Is there something more, I need to know?”

The deep look in the hazel eyes, shone always as if she wanted to say something and as Sarah stared at it she saw something like a glint, beyond the eyes in the portrait. Sarah stood on a chair and peered closer.
There was something behind the portrait.

She passed her hands slowly, but found nothing that could automatically move the heavy portrait. She stood there puzzled for a little while and lifting the locket that was around her neck she said to the Maharani,
“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

At that moment something opened with a click and the portrait slide aside, exposing a secret door, with the numbers written on it. Sarah looked at the locket, amazed.
It was the magical key.

She opened the door and stepped into a room where the Queen’s jewels were stored in glass cubicles on the wall, an astounding collection of the most precious jewels she had ever seen. One small box stood on a round glass table in the middle of the room. Sarah opened the box gingerly, and resting on silk cushions was a note with the words, “For my daughter on her wedding day.”

Tears filled Sarah’s eyes, for she understood more than ever now, how deep was the pain, her grandmother’s betrayal has caused the family. She smiled through her tears and closed the door, a secret to keep, a family secret. Only when her time was ready to wear those jewels, then would she reopen the door. That day her great grandmother’s desire would be fulfilled and the legacy of the Maharani will continue from generation to generation.